On the Radio
by WaterSpirit1
Summary: 'The click of his lighter was comforting in the silence, though never as good as a casually thrown insult, an argument or a pale fist to his face. But Conrad never came to see him when it was raining.' Worth muses as he waits at 2am. Very slight Conworth.


**On the Radio**

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The click of his lighter was comforting in the silence, though never as good as a casually thrown insult, an argument, or a pale fist to his face. Still, it was better than nothing, which was what he was currently faced with as the rain poured down outside. Conrad never came to see him when it was raining. Sitting down heavily in his chair, Worth glanced at the beat-up old clock that hung precariously from a single nail on his wall. Almost two am. Propping his feet up on the desk, he leaned back in his chair to stare blankly at the door with the smoke curling lazily from his cigarette into the oppressive atmosphere. It was slightly warm, making the humid air hang heavy in the room. A siren sounded somewhere in the distance and the single light bulb dangling from the ceiling flickered unsteadily before sputtering noisily back into life to return to its usual low hum.

With a sigh that turned into a slight hacking cough, he vaguely considered the likelihood of any more patients rolling up or whether he should just throw it in for the night. Not even Lamont was likely to show up this late. Only Hanna was stupid enough, or enthusiastic enough depending on your point of view, to venture out into this kind of weather to be attacked by some undead creature and then turn up here, though he could never quite rule out the possibility of some other idiot dragging themselves through his door while bleeding slowly to death. In those circumstances, the weather didn't really make much of a fucking difference, did it?

Picking up a book that lay abandoned amongst the scattered papers and other questionable items on his desk, he leafed through a couple of pages but couldn't choose a sentence to focus on. Christ, he couldn't even remember where he left off. Maybe there was something to be said for having a bookmark instead of just ear-tagging the page. In any case, it didn't matter because the meaninglessly words drifted and became confused before his eyes, which kept flicking up to the door, expecting the familiar tap of footsteps along the alleyway at any moment. Cursing those distinctive damn shoes he knew all too well, he threw the book a little too violently, sending it skidding back across the desk.

He glanced at the clock again, to find only ten lousy minutes had dragged by. Christ, had it always ticked that damn loudly? The longer he stared at the black second hand with a dark scowl as it jolted unsteadily past the numbers, the more it pissed him off. What the fuck was the point of time if you had nothing to wait for? Dark eyes with darker circles beneath them roved around the small office, searching for something to take his mind off the ticking clock. Taking a drag on his cigarette, he leaned across to switch on an old radio he'd found in the alleyway. It was more for decorative purposes than anything else, like his beloved dead pot plant, because frankly he hated most music and more than that he loathed listening to the drivel the idiots on the radio talked between songs. But tonight, anything had to be better than the silence that weighed down on him in that small room and filled his mind with the imagined sound of footsteps outside. Fiddling with the controls, he muttered curses under his breath at the stupid contraption, cigarette dangling unheeded from his lips. No matter which way he turned the dial, the only sound he got was a dull static that had a tune, familiar yet obscured, playing indistinctly beneath the overwhelming crackling of white noise. He couldn't even find the frigging weather channel to see if this god forsaken rain was going to keep up over the next few days. He might go crazy if it was. Giving up, he leaned back in his chair again and, closing his eyes, found that the sound of the static blended nicely into that of the rain falling against the roof.

The grey clouds had hung heavy over the city for at least four days, with a steady and persistent drizzle of rain following them everywhere, and it had been two days before that when the vampire had last shown his pathetic face in the clinic. Not that he was keeping track, of course, but that _was _a whole week's worth of entertainment he was being deprived of because of a stupid, piddling bit of rain. Mind drifting with the static, he wondered what Conrad was doing now, not because he cared he told himself firmly, but because the vampire was probably the only other damn person he knew who'd be up at an hour like this. Everyone else was most likely in their warm beds, where he should be but- Suddenly, feeling too warm with his coat on yet knowing he'd be too cold if he took it off, he shifted uncomfortably in his seat and dark eyes stole a fleeting look up to the clock once more. Quarter to. Alright, three o'clock, he promised himself. Three o'clock and he'd throw it all in, try to get some sleep. Not that he ever really did, what with his subconscious always torturing him with vivid dreams that played out more like memories, and the foul weather probably wouldn't help but there was really no point in just sitting here doing nothing. But what if…? No. There was _no point_, he told himself firmly, scowling at the door.

Stretching his stiff legs, he leaned forward to stub the remains of his cigarette out against the table. Fingering the pack, he wondered vaguely whether it was worth lighting another one. He felt he was craving…something, but a smoke wasn't quite it. Though he was tired, it wasn't sleep either. Worth had never really been a fan of sleep and probably wouldn't have bothered with it if it wasn't absolutely necessary, because all it was, really, was an interim between this boring day and the next. You're not escaping anything with sleep because, when you wake up tomorrow, you'll still be you and you'll still be leading you're boring bloody life. And it'll probably still be fucking raining. _Just another damn substitute_, he thought wearily, flicking the pack open. A car alarm went off somewhere nearby as he lit the cigarette he'd just pulled out, wondering when the hell Conrad had become as necessary to his life as them, and between the incessant honking, the radio which had just crackled into life and the rain, it was no wonder he didn't hear the approaching footsteps. Real ones, this time.

_On the radio,  
We heard November rain.  
That solo's really long,  
But it's a pretty song._

He glanced up at the door in surprise as it swung open violently, revealing a drenched figure who was cursing loudly at the rain in a familiar voice. A somewhat skeezy, lopsided grin stole over his face as he contemplated the pale figure who was wiping his glasses on his shirt.

"Well, well, well, whaddav we here? A drowned bat? Would'a thought you'd 'ave leapt at the chance ta take yer parasol out for a stroll, Fagula," he said sarcastically around his cigarette, trying to prevent the smirk on his face from traitorously turning into a smile.

"Fuck off, Worth!" a dripping Conrad yelled, still standing in the doorway, beyond which the rain poured down steadily, pointing a slender finger at the doctor, "Firstly I don't have a parasol, it's an umbrella, and I _did_ have one until it got stolen by a frigging hooker on the way here and I wouldn't even have to come here if-" He paused for a moment and stared at the radio on the desk.

_This is how it works.  
You're young until you're not,  
You love until you don't,  
You try until you can't.  
And everyone must breathe,  
Until their dying breath._

"That-…that's actually a good song," he said, his face dissolving quickly from anger to surprise in typical Conrad fashion and Worth could have mentally kicked himself for even knowing the stupid vampire that well.

"Trust yer ta like pansy music like that," he baited teasingly, not even knowing what the song was or who sung it, but that wasn't really the point.

_No, this is how it works,  
You peer inside yourself,  
You take the things you like,  
And try to love the things you took._

"Wha- You're the one listening to it!" Conrad yelled accusingly, snapping back to his former anger, before throwing his hands up in the air in the usual frustrated gesture that meant 'why the heck did I even bother coming here!' But they both knew why and Worth merely grinned. Conrad glared at him furiously as he slammed the door behind him, blocking out the sound of the rain, "I did _not_ trudge through the fucking rain at two o'clock in the morning to argue with some hack. I just want-"

He raised a questioning eyebrow at the vampire, who looked away to stare at a crack in the wall awkwardly.

_And then you take that love you made,  
And stick it into some…  
Someone else's heart,  
Pumping someone else's blood._

"I just want food, Worth," Conrad continued wearily with a sigh, suddenly looking pathetic as he dripped a small puddle of water onto the middle of the floor, _his _floor, and the paleness of his skin became tinged with a deep shade of blue.

"Oh, really? Could'a fuckin' fooled me, peaches."

His grin widened slightly as Conrad glanced up at him furtively, trying to hide the small smile that showed his gleaming tooth. The clock read two minutes to three and smoke hung heavy in the humid air. The click of his lighter was comforting in the silence, though never as good as…

_On the radio,_ _uh oh, on the radio._

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A/N: People keep adding my stories to their favourites without leaving a comment, so if you liked this I'd really appreciate it if you left a couple of words saying why. Thanks.

Abridged lyrics from On the Radio – Regina Spektor


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